


Project: Get Bucky Barnes a Dog

by ruxian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Dogs, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Dogs, Team as Family, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruxian/pseuds/ruxian
Summary: Bucky Barnes does not have a dog. Bucky Barnes does not want a dog.Sam thinks that should change.Bucky does not agree.





	Project: Get Bucky Barnes a Dog

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a shitpost on tumblr. idk what happened.

It was Sam’s idea for Bucky to get a dog. 

At first, he was adamant that _no_ , entrusting him to care for a defenseless creature was a _terrible idea, Sam, what the fuck._

But Sam, the stubborn asshole, wouldn’t listen. Kept sending him links to videos of dogs greeting their owners after they come home from Afghanistan. Link after link about how helpful service dogs are. Pictures of puppies at three in the goddamn morning. No matter how many knife emojis he sent back, Sam never stopped. 

And he got the others in on it, too, just to prove a point. 

Steve, who offhandedly mentions he wouldn’t mind having buddy to take on walks occasionally if Bucky was busy. 

Tony, who while wrist deep in his arm mentions that the compound seems like a great place for a dog to play, what with all the open space and grass. 

Natasha, who seems to have gained a sudden interest in dog magazines, and subsequently leaving them all over the living areas and _even in the towel rack, really Nat_?

Clint, who throws on his best puppy eyes and says _how much his kids would love someone to play with when they come by, don’t you think, Barnes_?

Rhodey, who mentions more than once how lovely the therapy dogs he encountered while in recovery were, and how he would love to have something like that again. 

Even Bruce and Thor when he’s around have been recruited into project ‘Get Bucky a Dog’, as evidenced by Bruce quietly slipping Bucky article after article on the calming effects having a canine companion has on people, and Thor demonstrating how far he can throw things to show how good at fetch he would be. (Tony didn’t very much appreciate his lamp being used as an example.)

And that’s all fine. 

Bucky’s a strong willed person. He can handle Wanda ‘suddenly’ remembering the stray dog she and Pietro used to play with as a child, and _oh wouldn’t it be wonderful to do something like that again, Sergeant?_ He can handle Vision, as subtle as a damn flashing neon billboard, mentioning that it might help him understand human behavior more if he were to ‘observe the behavior between man and their best-friend’. 

It was all fine. He could handle that, because _Bucky Barnes was not getting a dog._

But Sam didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. 

And Sam plays dirty. 

Because, as they all know, there’s one person Bucky would never say no to. One person who could flash a smile at Bucky and turn him into a pile of goo in a matter of seconds. 

Contrary to popular belief, this person was not Steve. He’s been vetoing Steve’s stupid ideas since the 1920’s because _no, Steve, you have Asthma, you can’t chase after that mugg–STEVE GET BACK HERE–_

It wasn’t Shuri either, since she’s been sending him puppy picture after puppy picture, no doubt having heard about the attempt to get him a dog via her nosy brother. He loves her and is forever in her debt for all she’s done for him but she’s not enough to persuade him into getting a furry friend.

No, Sam had to go and pull out the big guns.

Peter Parker. 

Bucky is fairly certain Peter can make anyone melt into a puddle of goo if he tried hard enough. 

He _loves_ Peter. The kid is as sharp as a tac, sweet as can be, and though he has a hero complex big enough to rival Steve’s, he’s got enough talent and natural instinct that Bucky feels comfortable letting him do his spidery thing. 

Okay, that, and both Bucky and Natasha have been giving him combat lessons for a few months now. Brute strength will only get you so far if you don’t know how to use it, after all. 

But most of all, Peter isn’t _afraid_ of him. 

Not in the slightest. He never gives him a pitying look, never flinches if he moves too fast or worries about touching him. He seems to be able to differentiate when it’s a good day for Bucky, and when it’s a bad one and human interaction should be limited to sitting on opposite ends of the couch while watching home renovation shows. And if Peter ever gets it wrong, he’s quick to offer an apology and leave it at that. No fuss, just a quick change of topic and scooching back a few feet to give Bucky his space. 

His energy is _good_ for him. He didn’t have to put up any fronts with Peter, and the kid had a way of making people feel comfortable around him. 

It was why Bucky never minded picking him up for his weekend visits when Happy was unavailable.

Plus, seeing Peter light up like a Christmas Tree when Bucky surprises him at the school gates is always worth the drive. 

“Mr. Barnes!” 

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky, Pete?” he teases, smiling as he suddenly gains an armful of spider-kid. 

“Sorry, I just got excited. You haven’t come to pick me up in months!” Peter grins, paying no mind to the gathering of his classmates behind him.

“I suppose you’re forgiven,” he says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he ushers Peter into the car and away from prying eyes. 

“Do anything fun today?” Bucky asks after they’re on the Cross Island Parkway, radio off and sunroof open to enjoy the nice fall air. 

“Oh, uh… yeah yeah! We had some people from the Wounded Warrior Project come in, and they talked about all the different things they do for soldiers’ families! With healthcare, and therapy, and…” Peter has a sheepish look on his face, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. Oh no. “They work with different organizations to provide service dogs to some families? Because service dogs are incredible and they help a lot of people recover in ways no other therapy can?” 

“Uh huh.”

“It was really interesting! Service dogs do, _so much_ for people. Hey! Did you know they can even teach dogs to recognize a panic attack or a dissociative episode and they can open doors and it’s all really really interesting and there’s this thing called deep pressure therapy where the do–”

“Pete?” The poor kid looks like he's about to have a heart attack. 

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky rolls eyes, resting his left arm on the door so he could face Peter better while still paying attention to the road. 

“So Sam got to you too, huh?”

“And Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly, hunched in his seat as he plays with the tiny LEGO Iron Man charm Tony got him as a joke last week. “They made a groupchat.”

“They made a groupchat,” Bucky deadpans, “about getting me a dog.”

“Steve made cover art for it.”

“I’m gonna kill all of them.”

Peter rolls his eyes himself, and Bucky groans at it all. 

“Why can’t Sam just take ‘no’ for an answer?” he whines. “Or Steve, or Tony, or any of them?” 

“Because they think you deserve something nice, Bucky,” Peter says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Bucky blinks at him. “You do know that, right?”

“I…” Bucky pauses, staring firmly at the car in front of him. Peter is squinting at him. “I–there are other things to get me that aren’t a– _a dog_ , you know?” 

_Just pay attention to the road, Bucky. Not the way Peter is raising an eyebrow at him. Nope. Not paying attention to that at all._

“Bucky,” Peter squints further and fully turns his body to him now, leaning up against the window in a way that can’t be comfortable, “why don’t you want to get a dog?”

He sighs, blowing air out harshly from his mouth. 

“Peter…” he starts, “you know I’m not exactly… the most _stable_ person in the world.”

“Do you… do you think you’re gonna _hurt_ a dog?” Peter has wide eyes now, blinking at him like he just sprouted an extra head. “Bucky–”

“I’m _dangerous_ , Pete. I really am. When I lash out at Steve on a bad day, he can _fight back_ , you know? Sam, Natasha, Tony, _you_ , can fight back, but a dog?” He shakes his head, gripping the wheel a bit tighter than strictly necessary. “A dog bite wouldn’t even slow me down.” 

“Bucky, you wouldn’t,” Peter says firmly, in a voice that’s far too old for him. “ _You wouldn’t_. The one time I’ve seen you get anywhere near violent, you know what you did?” Bucky shakes his head slightly. Sometimes those days are as fuzzy as his memories from the 1930’s. “You shoved Steve into a counter to get away from him, and then locked yourself in one of the closets for three hours until Steve and Sam talked you into going to your bedroom.”

“That doesn’t pro–”

“According to Sam that’s what you do almost every time,” Peter says gently, righting himself in his seat. “You hide _before_ you hurt anybody.”

_Damn you, Wilson. Damn this kid._

“You need more faith in yourself.”

“You need to not have _so much_ faith in me.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t suggest it to you if I thought it was a bad idea. And my ideas are usually good!”

“Didn’t you try to fight a villain by yourself in your pajamas on Coney Island?”

“They _were not my paja_ –I’m never letting Mr. Stark tell you anything ever again,” Peter grumbles, hunching down into his seat. Bucky grins. “It’s a good idea, Bucky. I know you’ve been reading those articles Dr. Banner gave you.”

He has. They’re very… _compelling_. 

That kind of companionship and love is something he craves. He knows he has Steve, _loves_ Steve, but there’s just something about the love of a dog that seems _perfect_. 

It would make so many things easier, but…

“I still don’t know if it’s a good idea, Pete…” He mutters, flicking on the blinker to merge onto I-87. 

“At least promise to talk to Sam about it? Please? For meeeeee?” Peter’s pouting at him, bottom lip sticking out and everything. His resolve is crumbling more and more by the minute. 

“Peter–”

“ _Pleeeeeeeeease_?” How in the _fuck_ did he make his eyes so big? How?

“You’re evil,” he mutters, groaning at his fate. Fucking Peter. “ _Fine_! Stop looking at me like that, I’ll talk to Sam–” “ _Yes_!” “But that’s _all_ I’m promising, understand? I’m making no guarantees.” 

But Peter’s grinning at him like he just won a prize, so he sighs and shakes his head, and tries to pretend there isn’t a smile tugging at his lips, too. 

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” Peter says, still grinning, and somehow he’s inclined to believe him. 

“Yeah yeah,” he says with an eye roll. 

Peter looks far too smug. Damn kid. 

“You wanna take the scenic or the quick route?” He asks a while later once they’ve crossed the bridge over the Tappan Zee bridge. 

“Scenic, duh,” Peter snorts, adjusting himself in his seat. “Ooh! Can we stop at Hoyer’s for ice cream? _Pleeeeease_?”

“Am I gonna get yelled at by _Mr. Stark_ if I say yes?”

“Not if we get him something, too.”

“Then sure, anything you want, kid,” Bucky agrees softly, not even bothering to fight the smile on his face. 

The smile on Peter’s face was worth it even if he does yelled at. 

. . .

In what seems like no time at all, the two of them walk into the main living space of the compound, ice cream in hand. 

Clint and Sam are having a very intense match of Mario Kart, obscenities flying every few seconds. At least nothing was broken yet. 

Too many times has Bucky walked into the living room to find broken glass everywhere and upturned furniture, thanks to a round of Mario Kart. Tony’s poor lamps. 

“Please tell me you did not buy Peter ice cream, Barnes,” Tony whines, wandering into the room with a yawn. He can see Peter grinning out of the corner of his eye, the brat. 

Wordlessly, Bucky hands him a large chocolate sundae, one eyebrow raised. Tony squints at him, but takes the treat. 

“You’re forgiven, _this time_ ,” Tony decides, grabbing Peter’s arm and presumably dragging him down to the lab. “But you can’t keep bribing me with ice cream!”

“Apparently I can!” He calls back, unable to help the grin spreading across his face. Tony flips him the bird.

“Thanks for the ride and the ice cream, Bucky!” Peter calls while walking backwards, still holding his ice cream. If he didn’t have those ‘ _spidey-senses_ ’ of his, Bucky would worry about him walking into a wall. “Remember what we talked about!” Peter attempts to be subtle with his pointed glances at Sam, and it’s heartwarmingly cute. He’s trying his best, but that kid is about as subtle as a firetruck. 

“Anytime, kid,” he says fondly. “And I will, don’t worry.”

Peter grins at him one last time before the elevator doors close. 

At least the mention of ice cream seemed to catch the attention of the two bird-brains, if the way they were launching themselves over the back of the couch was any indication. 

“Ice cream?” Clint asks (shouts), nearly falling over the counter top in his attempt to get to it, grabby hands and all. “Barnes, I swear, if you didn’t get me any I will _destroy you_.” 

“ _I_ will _especially_ destroy you if you didn’t get any for me because this bag says _Hoyer’s_ and you _know_ I love their soft-serve, man.” Sam’s attempt at threatening him is adorable. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, plucking out another hot fudge sundae for Clint and a neat container of vanilla and chocolate swirled soft-serve for Sam. “You’re both big babies, whining over ice cream, I hope you know that.”

Clint sticks his tongue out at him, which doesn’t help his case at all. Neither does the chocolate sauce on his chin, for that matter.

Steve chooses that moment to wander in, Natasha right behind him, placing a kiss on Bucky’s cheek and a friendly punch on Sam’s shoulder. 

“I heard there was ice cream?” Steve asks, already sticking his big hands into the bag.

“What, no kiss for me?” Clint asks, waggling his eyebrows in the worst attempt at being flirtatious he’s ever seen. 

“Not with that mess on your face,” Steve replies, nicking the container with a root beer float inside from the bag. Natasha nabs a container of vanilla ice cream smothered in strawberry sauce, pokes him once in the shoulder in greeting, and slinks back out of the room. 

Clint, the immature child that he is, makes kissy faces at Steve in retaliation, leaning in over the counter to get as close as he can. Steve rolls his eyes, flicking Clint’s forehead gently and wandering off with his treat and a wave. 

Taking the opportunity of distraction, Bucky hops up on top of the counter next to Sam while Clint mock pouts, sipping at his own milkshake. He pokes Sam with a metal finger until he turns and gives him his full attention. 

“You’re evil.”

Sam blinks at him, but catches on quick, a grin slowly starting to spread across his face. 

“Spiderkid pulled through?”

“Evil.”

“Oh, he totally pulled through.” The grin got bigger. He hates Sam, so much. “How long did it take for you to cave? A minute? Two? Thirty seconds?”

“I bet Nat it would take less than five minutes; you better not have cost me fifty bucks, Buck,” Clint pipes in, pointing his spoon at him. 

Bucky narrows his eyes, “is Peter aware of this bet?”

“Of course not! He’s a minor.”

“Like that would’ve stopped you.”

“Alright,” Sam cuts in, “we all know Bucky’s soft spot for Peter is a mile wide. But the real question is, did he succeed?” Sam turns back to Bucky at this, hands together in a prayer position over his mouth and eyebrows up to his hairline.

Bucky’s going to punch Sam. He is. Steve will cry and get all yelly about it, but he’s going to punch Sam right in the mouth. 

Multiple times. 

“You have a fucking group chat.”

“Well, we gotta talk about something.” Clint doesn’t sound sorry at all about his participation in said group chat. “You should see the art Steve made for it!”

That’s right, he has to punch Steve too. 

He lives in a house full of manipulators. 

“Yes, we have a group chat, and it would very much like to know what happened with your conversation with everyone’s favorite spiderboy.” Sam really would fit right in with the villains from those movies he’s so damn fond of. 

“I agreed…” Sam and Clint both lean in, like he’s about to drop the most amazing secret of all time, “to _think_ about it.” They both droop back in their seats, Clint grumbling about owing Nat money, again. Bucky throws his hands up at their reactions, letting a confused expression come onto his face. 

“At least thinking about it is progress,” Sam concedes, even if he’s pouting into his ice cream. 

For once, Bucky takes pity on him, even if he rolls his eyes while doing so. “And I agreed to talk to you more about those service dogs at the VA you told me about.” 

Sam perks right up at that. “That’s fantastic, man! Just lemme know when you want to go, I’ll have one of my buddies set something up for you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know when, _or if_ , that’ll happen. It’s a lot for me to think about.” The last part is said quieter than he’d like to admit, but it’s the truth. 

Sam nods at that, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, that’s cool. You know we’re mostly joking right? No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Bucky nods, looking down at his cup and giving the melted ice cream a swirl. “I know. I’m still getting used to it though, you know?”

“Hey, take your time man, there’s no rush,” Clint adds easily, getting up from his seat and (hopefully, for his health) leaving to go give Natasha the money she’s apparently owed. “Even though you’re already ancient.”

The spoon Bucky chucks at Clint’s head makes a satisfying ‘ _thwack_ ’ against his skull. 

 

. . .

 

He’s retching before he’s even fully awake. 

Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence. Nightmares plague him more often than not, images of violence and gore flashing behind his eyes in all sorts of ways. Fortunately, that also means he’s already up and out of bed, running to the bathroom before he has a chance to throw up anywhere but the toilet. 

Steve is right behind him, holding his hair away from his face and rubbing his back. He’s used to this by now, too. 

By the time he’s just dry heaving, Steve has already gotten him a glass of water and a cool washcloth for his face. Steve wordlessly wipes down his face, paying no mind to the tears pooling in his eyes. He gargles the water given to him, shakily making his way to his feet and over to the sink. 

Leaning over, he presses his forehead to the cool edge of the sink, taking deep, even breaths like his therapist taught him. 

“You alright Buck?” 

Swallowing hard, he nods, sniffing once before standing up straight again. Steve’s stepped to the side, hovering just out of reach. Sometimes touch isn’t welcomed on these days. 

Taking the opportunity of space, he decides to brush his teeth. He scrubs at his gums harder than is strictly necessary, but it makes him feel better about the violence still playing in his mind. Spitting the toothpaste back into the sink, he coughs a bit from the mint. He gargles again, savoring the cool sting on his tongue. 

Steve hasn’t moved. 

Turning slowly and wrapping his arms around himself, Bucky lowers his head onto Steve’s shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. 

Steve gently wraps his arms around him, thumbs rubbing in soft circles to help calm them both. It’s never easy on days like these to get the shaking to stop. 

“I think I need to talk to Sam…” He says a few minutes later, finally snaking his arms around Steve’s waist and holding on tight. 

“You mean for counselling? I thought you liked your therapist.” Steve asks softly, always patient and understanding. 

“No, no… He’s great, I like him. But… maybe Sam’s right… about the whole, _service dog_ thing.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can practically see his best-friend’s surprised expression. “You think that’s something you need?”

“I don’t know… I don’t think so? Not full-time? I… I have to talk to Sam about it… Even if that’s admitting that the bastard is right,” he teases, allowing a small smirk to curl his lips. 

Steve snorts above him, his eye roll practically audible. “Well, I got your back either way. I’ll let him know you want to see him, okay? Why don’t you take a shower in the meantime.” 

Nodding his agreement, Bucky slowly pries himself from Steve’s embrace, pausing long enough for a kiss to be planted on the top of his head. 

"Thanks, Stevie." Steve smiles at him.

"Of course, Buck." Steve leaves after that, allowing Bucky to go about cleaning himself up. 

Now showered and warm, the shaking from the throws of his nightmare at least has subsided a bit. Sometimes it takes hours or even an entire day to get it to stop.

Maybe getting that dog would help with that. 

The articles he’s read have all pointed to the answer being yes, piling more and more evidence into the idea that he should really take the plunge and get one. His therapist agrees, even agreeing to sign off on a service animal if that’s what he so wants. He’s already taken his suggestion of getting a plant.

His therapist said that having something or someone to take care of would be good for him. To remind him that he’s capable of being gentle, and that sometimes the best form of self-care comes from taking care of others. 

And yes, he’ll admit that he takes his job as ‘ _cactus-dad_ ’ a little too seriously, but he loves Gertrude to pieces. Peter got her a little pink hat and everything. 

He’s been wanting to expand his plant family for some time now, but as much as he loves them, plants can’t exactly return the affection he so desperately craves. 

Sometimes, human interaction is too much. Sometimes the shadows of his past make his head spin and touch from another person is far too overwhelming. But, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want affection. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hold something warm and have it love being held in return. Something that would just sit and not expect anything but love in return. 

Yeah, maybe he was a bit more sold on the idea of a dog than he thought. 

Taking a minute to make sure Gertrude was getting enough sunlight, Bucky pulls on warm, soft socks. Readjusting the little cactus’ hat, he smiles just a little. Maybe it was time to expand the family a bit. 

 

. . .

 

Sam answers his door almost as soon as he’s done knocking. 

“Were you just standing on the other side waiting for me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam sighs, stepping inside to let him in. “I have better things to do than wait for your sorry ass.”

“Uh–if I’m interrupting something, I can just–”

“Boy, sit your ass down and tell me what’s going on.” 

Sam has his hands on his hips, so he knows he’s being serious. Sighing, he plops himself down on one of Sam’s big recliners, while Sam comes over and sits on the arm of the loveseat across from him. 

“So, what changed your mind?” 

“I’m tired…” Bucky bites his lip, but Sam is nodding like that makes sense, so he continues, “I’m tired of being afraid of myself. Steve is great, my therapist is great, you’re all _great_ but…”

“Sometimes people can be a lot?” Sam asks, rolling his hands in a simple gesture. He nods.

“Yeah. People expect things from me. They expect me to act a certain way, from a certain time, or they’re scared to touch me, be around me, and… I’m tired of it.”

“And you think a dog will help with that?” Sam doesn’t sound condescending at all, or judgmental. Just patient, waiting for the whole story.

Sometimes he forgets that Sam, asshole, dick and general thorn in his side Sam, is a counselor. Moments like these are always enlightening, and refreshing. 

“Yeah… I mean, I don’t think I need, or _want_ , a full-time service dog. That’s not something I’d be comfortable having.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Our lifestyles aren’t exactly the _best_ for that sort of thing.” Sam smiles, elbows on his knees. 

“To say the least,” he agrees quietly, “but, maybe… maybe having a dog that knows some of that stuff would… help? Be a better fit?” He wrings his hands together in uncertainty. Sam nods, rubbing his chin as he thinks. 

In truth, he has no idea what it is exactly that he’s asking for. If it’s something that’s possible. Possible for _him_ , anyway. 

"And, I'm still worried-about-"

"Man, the next words outta your mouth better not be ' _hurting a dog_ , because that's just ten kinds of stupid." Bucky snaps his mouth shut. "Okay listen, I _looked_ , because you were so worried about it, and I found _nothing_. Okay? Nothing, about owners of service dogs hurting their animals. Nada."

That wasn't what he was expecting, at all, but he takes it in stride nonetheless and nods.

“Well,” Sam starts after a moment. “I got a buddy over at the VA, name’s Justin. He’s pretty much an expert when it comes to training dogs for the veterans who qualify.” Bucky nods, leaning forward a bit. “I’ll give him a call, tell him what you’re looking for, see if maybe he can help. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He stands, rubbing his hands a bit harshly against his thighs. This morning is still too fresh in his mind. “Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime man. Door’s always open.” Sam smirks at him, that shit-eating grin he gets when he wants to pull Bucky’s leg. “My Mama taught me to always help the eldery, pay you guys respect, y’know? ‘Sides, it’s the least I can do for a guy I did a history project on in the seventh grade.”

“You did _what_ in the seventh grade?”

“Yeah, we were all assigned major figures from World War Two. I made a whole poster on you an’ everything.” Sam looks far too smug. “I gotta respect my elders.”

Is his eye twitching? His eye feels like it’s twitching. 

“And where is this project now?” He asks, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow at his friend. No way is he missing an opportunity for blackmail. 

“Man, you think I still have that thing?” Sam snorts. “I burned it after DC!”

Okay, now he’s just insulted. 

“What–Wha– _why_?” 

“ _Why_?” Sam asks incredulously, spreading his arms out wide and his eyebrows up to his hairline. “You spartan kicked me off a _helicarrier_! You ripped off one of my wings!” 

“ _THAT WAS ONE TIME_!” He shouts, “and I was _brainwashed_! I said I was sorry!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Sam sighs. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Get out of here, old man. I’ll go call the VA and see what I can do, alright?”

“Alright alright.” He let Sam herd him out the door, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. Before the door closes completely, he turns and gives Sam as sincere an expression as he could. “Hey… thank you. You really don’t have to do any of this. I really appreciate it.”

Sam smiles at him, a real one this time. 

“No sweat buddy. I’ll let you know what happens.” One last fist bump, and he’s off to go find Steve. 

At least for now he can make sure the rest of the day won’t be as bad as its start.

 

. . .

 

A few days later, he finds himself walking into the regional VA building at Sam’s side, baseball cap firmly pulled down over his eyes. 

He feels a little better about his metal hand being visible while walking the halls, seeing other veterans walking around with their prosthesis’ clear and visible. Still, he tugs on his sleeve and makes sure as much was hidden as possible. It wasn’t really the same for him, after all. At least no one has recognized him, or if they had they haven’t mentioned it. 

Sam leads him down a maze of hallways, eventually guiding him into a large room with a lot of windows. There were a few chairs littered around, two treadmills that were too small for any person to use, tennis balls, tugs, and dog bowls lining one side of the room. Paw prints were painted on the walls, next to an American flag and several posters thanking the service of military canines over the years. 

“Ah! There you two are!” He spins, finding a tall, well-muscled tan man come out of an office behind him, a slim, athletic looking fawn-colored dog at his side wearing a bright red vest. The man walked right over to Sam, giving him a friendly slap on the back and turning towards him. “You must be James; I’m Justin, and this is Ty, we’re in charge of service animals around here,” Justin said with a grin, holding out his right hand so Bucky could shake it. Ty sat diligently at Justin’s left, waiting for his next command.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to meet us,” he said, wanting to be as polite as possible. He could only imagine how busy this man must be. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all! Anyone Sam puts a good word in for is worth the time,” Justin explains with a wink. “So, based on what Sam told me, you’re looking for a dog that can perform psychiatric assistance tasks?” 

“Uh, yeah, um… My therapist says that I have dissociative episodes a lot. Flashbacks. Some days I know I need comfort, but it’s hard to accept from another person. Human touch can be a lot, y’know?” It’s a bit awkward to talk about with someone he’s not familiar with, but Justin just nods like it makes perfect sense. 

“Absolutely. Ty here helps me with a lot of the same things; he’s completely changed my life, and definitely for the better.” Justin has a very easy and loving smile on his face while he talks, reaching down a bit to pet the dog in question. Ty’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, apparently very happy to be pet as he looks back up at his owner. 

The loving expression on both of their faces makes his heart lurch a bit, tugging at a string of desire he didn’t know he had. 

Damn Wilson for being right about this. Asshole. 

“Ty is trained to recognize things like panic attacks and dissociative episodes, and how to pull me back from them,” Justin starts after a moment. “He’s also trained to create a block between me and other people if I get overwhelmed in a crowd. Sometimes just having him pushing against my leg is enough to calm me down. Other times, he’ll whine and nag me until I follow him out of whatever situation it is that made me uncomfortable. He grounds me with deep pressure therapy when things get bad, brings me back into the moment. Any of that sound like it would be helpful to you?” There must be a wistful expression of some sort on his face, because Justin has a knowing smile on his. 

“Uh, all of it?” He lets out an awkward sounding half-laugh-half-exhale sound, rubbing the back of his neck. 

He can see Sam smirking out of the corner of his eye, the bastard. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, Sam told me that you’re not really interested in a full-time service dog?” Justin asks. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sometimes I know I need to be alone. I don’t want to rely on a dog either, and my lifestyle doesn’t exactly… Make it easy for a dog to be with me at all times?” That’s the understatement of the century. He would know. 

“Okay, we can work with that. Your situation is certainly, _unique_ , to say the least, if it’s anything like Sam’s.” 

“You could say that again…” he mutters, Sam snorting in amusement next to him. 

Justin smiles. “Knowing what Sam told me, I contacted a few people, asked around about any dogs in the area that might fit your criteria. We got a few here in the kennels, if you’d like to meet them?”

Bucky blinked. He wasn’t expecting it to be this easy, at all, but Sam was smiling at him like he had been expecting this outcome. He squinted at his friend, but nodded to Justin.

“Great! If you’ll follow me,” he said, walking passed them with Ty by his side. 

“James?” He whispered to Sam, staying a good few feet behind Justin as they walked outside. 

“Figured you’d want to stay a bit lowkey,” Sam explained, an easy smile on his face. “And I pulled a few strings, before you ask. It normally takes a long time to get through this process, y’know. But, Justin helped speed things up a bit.”

It was a little hard to believe that someone would pull any kind of strings for _him_ of all people, but he muttered his thanks to Sam nonetheless, making a mental note to himself to do the same with Justin later. 

“Alright, here we are!” Justin announced a few minutes later, leading them into another building and to a long line of kennels. “If any in this row catch your eye, let me know and we’ll bring ‘em back to the training room, okay?” 

He nodded, running his right hand across the metal doors and looking at the occupants, pausing for a few seconds at each. Behind him, he could hear Sam and Justin start a conversation in quiet voices, but paid them no mind. He had better things to pay attention to. 

The dogs all reacted positively to him, something he so wasn’t used to, coming up and pressing their noses through gaps in the chainlink for attention. He lets them smell and lick him, unable to keep the smile off his face. Their easy happiness is infectious.

Alright, Sam was completely right. He really should have done this sooner. Not that he’s going to tell Sam that; he’d never hear the end of it. Asshole. 

He makes mental note of the ones that catch his eye, slowly making his way down the kennel and–

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Oh _no_. 

He’s read about stories of people knowing that they had found their dog, about it had been love at first sight, but he didn’t really believe them. It seemed a little too good to be true. 

But he got it now. He really did. 

Because the dog he just stepped up to seemed to be calling out to his soul. 

The dog, mostly black with a white chest and brown on their face and legs, big and fluffy as all hell, has their whole body moving from how much they’re wagging their white-tipped tail. There’s a big, tongue-hanging-out-happy smile on their face, ears (which were floppy on the tips _oh my god that’s so cute_ –) sticking right up towards him.

Oh, he’s so screwed. 

He’s so fucking screwed. 

Kneeling down in front of the kennel, Bucky lets a few of his fingers slip through the kennel door, and immediately they’re being licked. The dog starts making happy and excited whines, pawing at the bottom of the door. Bucky agrees; he wants to meet them, too.

“This one,” he says, never more sure of anything. “This is the one.” 

His eyes might be a bit misty, so sue him. 

“Oh, uh, that’s Molly. She’s not quite cutting it in the program, but–”

“I don’t care.” He’s sat himself down in front of Molly’s kennel now, carefully letting her investigate his metal fingers. “She’s the one.” 

He can’t take his eyes off of her. He knows in his heart of hearts it’s her. That this big, excited fluffy dog is the one.

Justin sighs, grumbling about how no one ever listens to him, but comes over and unlocks the door anyway. 

Sam bursts out laughing when Molly tackles him down to the ground, immediately licking his face and knocking his hat off with as much enthusiasm as she possibly can. Bucky agrees with the sentiment, oh so carefully bringing his hands up to her flanks and rubbing at her fur. It’s rougher than he expected it to be, but that’s more than okay; he’s too busy smiling like a loon to care.

He knows Sam is probably filming the whole thing so he can send it to that stupid groupchat of his, but that’s fine. He wants this moment on tape anyway. 

“That would be why she hasn’t been doing well in the program…” Justin sighs, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “She’s a bit too excitable for most people looking for a service dog, but… well, she seems to like you.” 

The feeling is more than mutual. 

Justin gives Molly a command and she sits back, still wiggling a bit in excitement but doing as she’s told. It gives him the opportunity to get up, brushing off his jeans and replacing his hat. By the time he’s finished, Justin is holding the end of a leash out to him with a smile. 

He takes it with his left hand, just to make sure it isn’t shaking. 

Molly spends half of the walk back to the training room looking up at him. His heart may be melting. Just a bit. 

(Okay, it’s completely melted and is floating around somewhere in his rib cage. Bucky might float away himself, he’s so happy). 

“You can take her leash off once we’re in the room. The toys are all there for you to use, so you can play with her a bit while I get her papers for ya,” Justin says with a smile, opening the door for them and heading straight to the back room. 

Bucky unclips Molly’s leash once the door is closed, plopping himself down on the floor in front of her. He snags a rope tug from the pile of toys, holding it out to Molly who immediately catches on and barks at him. She latches onto the toy, pulling on it and playfully growling. 

The smile on his face hurts his cheeks and he’s unused to it, but he knows that this is one of his better decisions. 

Why does Sam always have to be right?

Speaking of, he turns and sees Sam filming him and Molly playing, a big smug grin splitting his face. He rolls his eyes at his friend, but it does nothing to stop the happy warmth bubbling in his chest. 

“See what happens when you listen to me? You make friends!”

“Ha, ha. You got enough blackmail yet?” 

“Not yet. Let ‘er lick your face a little bit, you know, like doggie kisses.” 

Flipping Sam–the Falcon–the bird is incredibly satisfying. 

Justin steps back in, holding a manilla folder that he holds out to Sam. 

“Everything you need to know about Molly is in there. You’re gonna have to come back here once a week for a while to continue training, and there’s a lot of paperwork we have to do with your psychiatrist, but… she’s yours.” 

Bucky blinks. Opens his mouth and closes it again, three times. Blinks some more. Molly drops the tug, poking her nose against his sternum. He brings his hands up to her neck, gently rubbing at her fur as he stares at Justin. 

“Are… are you being serious?” He rapidly looks between Sam and Justin, searching for any sign that they’re pulling his leg. 

They were just supposed to be getting a consultation today, to see if there was anything like he was searching for. He wasn’t expecting to walk out of here with a dog any time soon. 

“Well, you gotta pay for her and sign some papers, but… yeah, man. She’s all yours. Go ahead and read that file, then we can sign those papers, alright?” 

In too much shock to do much of anything else, he nods, gently plucking the file from Sam’s outstretched hand. 

He takes a deep breath as he opens it, spine going straight and stiff, but the picture of a happy dog wearing a pink bandana in the upper left-hand corner and the paw prints on the edges of the pages are nothing like anything he would find in a HYDRA file. Molly shoving her long head against his chest helps, too. Exhaling slowly, he skims the paper, committing it to memory. 

Molly, it turns out, is an almost two-year-old tri-color Rough Collie. She’s currently in training to be a psychiatric service dog, and is trained to help with certain physical disabilities, too. She’s marked as being friendly, enthusiastic, and energetic, which are all things he definitely agrees with. There’s a list of all of the commands she knows, and he’s quick to commit them to memory. 

He reads on about her health, finding some abbreviations like CEA and OFA that he doesn’t recognize, but they’re marked as “Negative” and “Good”, so he can only hope there’s no problems when he looks them up later. 

Once he’s done, Bucky hands the file back to Sam and follows Justin into the office in the back. Molly follows right along on his left side, and his heart melts just a bit more. 

Yeah, he’s in love with this dog. 

He has to find a way to thank Sam. And Justin. Maybe he can bake cookies for them or something. 

Reading through and signing all the necessary papers takes well over an hour, of which Sam spends most of it texting, but Molly doesn’t seem to mind sitting by his chair pressed up against his calves at all. Bucky more than happily writes the check for her, even if that’s more money that he ever thought was possible to spend on a dog, _holy fuck_ –

Once everything’s signed, Justin hands him a leash, collar, the rope tug he was playing with earlier, a pink stuffed elephant, and a list of other materials he’s going to need. 

“And this is a list of times you can come for training with me,” Justin says, handing him an open manila folder with charts. “Large group classes are highlighted in yellow, and smaller ones are in blue. Times I’m available are highlight in green, but those are always subject to change, so be sure to give me a call so I can pencil you in.” 

Bucky nods, quickly skimming over the colorful papers before handing the folder to Sam, who’s so busy texting he almost drops the damn thing. “I seriously can’t thank you enough. I-I don’t know what to say…” The smile on his face is a little helpless, and yeah, his eyes are a little dewy. 

Sam’s never gonna let him hear the end of it, but it doesn’t matter. 

“It’s my pleasure. Least I can do for you considering all you’ve been through, Sergeant,” Justin says, giving him a knowing wink. Bucky blinks, but figured it makes sense that Justin figured it out. The hand and hair are a bit obvious, afterall.

He shakes Justin’s hand again, puts on Molly’s leash, and follows Sam back out to the parking lot. 

His head is definitely spinning. Molly presses herself into his left leg, looking up at him with big brown eyes. He smiles at her and reaches over with his right hand to rub her head gently. He doesn’t want to accidentally pinch her if the gears shift. That and he can already see strands of fur sticking out of the joints of his left hand, which definitely means he’s getting an earful from Tony. 

Maybe he can bribe Peter with more ice cream to pick the them out. Or bet Clint that he can’t. That usually works.

Sam’s grinning at him when he holds open the back door to his car, which probably means trouble. Still, he ushers Molly up into the back seat and makes to go around to the front when Sam grabs him by the bicep. 

“Woah, you’re just gonna leave the lady to sit back there all by herself?” Sam tuts at him, shaking his head. Bucky narrows his eyes. “I thought you were taught manners in the 40’s.”

Sam’s such a little shit. 

“I know what you’re doing, you know.” He rolls his eyes, but slides into the back seat next to Molly regardless. She immediately sidles up to him and licks at his jaw while Sam shuts the door behind him. 

“Yeah,” Sam starts, grinning at him in the rearview mirror as he buckles his seatbelt. “It’s harder for you to rip out my steering wheel from back there.”

“ _Okay you know what_ –”

 

. . .

 

Walking into the compound with Molly the first time has his pulse racing. She’s as calm and steady as ever at his side, bumping into him occasionally as he makes his way to the main living space. 

Sam is right behind him, grumbling about having to carry the bags of new pet supplies from the car all by himself despite _not_ being a super soldier, even though Bucky has the two heaviest bags hoisted over his own shoulder, and there’s still plenty stuffed in the trunk to force Steve to carry. 

He can hear the frantic whispering and shuffling coming from the living room before he even rounds the corner, but is still surprised nonetheless when he takes it all in. 

Vision and Peter are both up by (or in Peter’s case, on) the ceiling, hanging a banner that says “ _Welcome Molly_!” in big loopy letters over the big windows. There’s a bucket full of toys sitting by the couch, a row of collars on the kitchen bar, a red and a black dog vest neatly folded next to them, next to pile of velcro… _something_. 

Tony and Steve are whisper arguing about what seems to be the placement of a very large purple dog bed, while Wanda is helping Natasha and Clint fold clothing and blankets that seem too small for any one person. 

Bruce, the only sane one of the bunch, steps up next to him holding a mug of coffee. 

“They got a bit excited.”

“I can see that.” 

Molly is the one to gain the other Avengers’ attention, barking in excitement over all the new people. 

Everyone turns to them, breaking out in various expressions of joy. Peter and Vision come down from the ceiling once their banner is secure, Steve and Tony quickly abandoning their argument while the three musketeers come up to take over the kitchen stools. 

Sam ignores all of them and practically throws himself onto the nearest couch. 

“So, uh… Everybody, this is Molly,” he introduces, quite possibly in the most awkward way, but no one seems to care. 

Steve kneels in front of Molly first while Bucky unclips her leash. 

“Hi there Molly, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you,” Steve greets, letting her smell his hands. 

Steve smiles like the sun when Molly happily licks his fingers, fluffy tail wagging in excitement at meeting a new person. 

“Me next!” Peter exclaims, dropping to his knees next to Steve to get in on the love. 

Molly reacts happily right away to Peter, licking at his cheek and putting her front paws on his thighs. Peter’s laughter makes Bucky’s chest feel warm. 

Meeting the rest of the team goes much the same way, and a part of him is very relieved to see they all love her right away. He wasn’t too worried–the last few hours with Molly have been a dream and just solidified how perfect she was–but having that reassurance right in front of him is a very nice thing to see nonetheless. 

While Clint is busy trying to get Molly to play a game of fetch (to which Tony is yelling about his poor lamps, again), Bruce and Natasha pull him aside to show him what everyone had gotten him. 

It’s… a lot. 

“Is this what Sam was so busy texting about? Dog supplies?” 

Speaking of, Steve walks in, carrying the rest of what he and Sam bought earlier in a poorly balanced pile. Thankfully, Peter is there and nabs a few things off the top before it can topple over. 

“Yup,” Nat answers, plucking one of the thick collars up and turning in between her fingers. “These collars have velcro patches, and we got you a bunch of patches that you can interchange whenever you want.” 

Nat pushes the pile of velcro patches towards him with her trademark smirk. He picks them up and shuffles through the brightly colored pieces of fabric, smiling a little bit over the phrases. _Working K-9; Do Not Pet; Ask To Pet Me; Service Dog; Do Not Pet;_ and _I’m busy!_

“They can be put on the vests, too,” Bruce says. “And Tony ordered some custom ones for you in all different colors–”

“Those’ll be here by the end of the week!” Tony calls from the other side of the room, one hand on a flailing Clint’s face. “And if you want anything else, just say the word, Robocop.” 

Bucky’s admittedly a little overwhelmed. 

“I-I… I, uh, I don’t… I don’t know what to say…” His heart’s beating really fast. 

This is all so much, he doesn’t deserve–

Molly pokes him in the knee with her nose. Before he can even give her his full attention, she’s jumping up and pressing her front paws into his thighs. Hard. 

He blinks as he realizes what she’s doing.

Deep pressure therapy. The dog uses their weight when their owner is in distress and presses it into their body, grounding them in the moment and bringing them back to reality. 

Molly saw that he was in distress and came to help. 

Okay. There are definitely tears in his eyes now. 

“Oh…” The room is quiet now, but he’s not paying any attention to them. His eyes are on Molly, who’s doing her absolute best to press her weight into his thighs. “I’m here, girl, thank you,” he says, as sincerely as he can.

Fuck. He’s had this dog for just a few hours, but he would already do anything for her. 

 

. . .

 

Getting Molly turns out to be the best thing he’s ever done. 

Over the last few months, she’s been a constant at his side, providing comfort and help in a way he didn’t know he could have. 

On days when he needed to get away from people, taking her with him so he wouldn’t be alone on a walk around the compound grounds helped keep him calm. It was a better therapy than destroying a punching bag or two any day. 

She helped him interact with other people when it was once tough, providing an easy gateway for conversation. But, she still provides a physical block in crowds when the people get to be a bit too much. 

He’s found that deep pressure therapy helps a lot. More often than not, she can knock him out of a dissociative episode before it gets the chance to gain much traction. She lets him hold her when human touch scares him but he still needs _something_. She licks at his face when he gets too spacey. She doesn’t get any hurt expression or sulk when any form of touch is too much and he pushes her away. She doesn’t try to pry him away when he has to hide somewhere for a little while so he can make sure he won’t hurt anyone; she just sits and waits for him. 

She’s a godsend. 

Steve also adores her, not minding at all when she weasels her way in between them in bed some nights, just gives her a kiss on the head and wraps his arms around the both of them. The punk’s big enough for it anyway. Molly loves him right back, going to him more often than not for rounds of fetch. 

Tony also seems to love her, even if he gets a lecture about how much dog fur accumulates in the gears and joints any time he goes for maintenance. It’s not his fault that Molly is so huggable. He’s also seen the specs Tony has for a full-length flexible glove, so he’s sure the days of the mechanic bitterly grumbling as he fishes dog hair from his arm with tweezers are numbered. 

Peter’s under the impression that Molly is the best thing since sliced bread, which, considering he was around for the invention of, he’s more than happy to agree. The kid’s been teaching her some goofy tricks, having the time of his life, and yeah, okay, he thinks they’re pretty fun too. But he’s never, ever, going to let Sam know that. Ever. 

Sam is smug about how well Molly fits in with their makeshift family, but enjoys her just as much as the others. Clint keeps nagging him to get another dog when he’s around, and to name it Lucky, which is not happening. Nat has been caught painting Molly’s nails at least twice. Wanda and Vision both feel overjoyed when Molly comes and lays on their feet. Molly herself loves the red light from Wanda’s powers. Bruce often reads to her, and she always pays very close attention to everything he says. Rhodey and Thor sneak her treats when they’re are around and he’s not looking, no matter how many times he calls them out on it. 

Molly’s spoiled rotten, by everyone, and knows it. She has more toys than there are employees in the compound probably, beds in almost every common room, and one in the big training room (behind a wall of bullet-proof glass, built by Tony, Steve, and Rhodey, just for her). He thinks she probably has more bandanas and vests and shirts than he does. She always seems extra happy when she’s wearing one of her custom vests, like doing her job with him is her most favorite thing in the world. 

She’s a great fit. A perfect one. 

He takes her training very seriously, too. He knows what cruel or bad training can do all too well, and refuses to be a bad handler for Molly. Throwing himself into research is easy, and he soaks up everything he can find like a sponge. 

(The day he accidentally stumbles on muzzle training, he spends the entire day curled around Molly in the corner of his room. He promises to her over and over that he’ll never do that to her, ever. She gives him extra kisses on his cheek that day).

Justin stays a part of their lives, and he meets with him once every two weeks for a private training session. They’ve come leaps and bounds since he first got her. Justin thinks they make a wonderful team. 

Molly is always happy to see him after he comes home from missions, tackling him to the ground every time. He knows this isn’t optimal behavior, but he’s durable. 

If getting tackled by fifty pounds of fluff is going to be the thing that takes him out, that’s just fine by him. 

Molly gives him a purpose. She chews on his expanding group of plants, she nags him to get out of bed when all he wants to do is go back to sleep and disappear. She’ll give him big sad eyes until he puts more food in her bowl, since they both seem to be aware that he’s a complete and total _sap_. When things get too hard and the guilt piles up too high and he feels like it would be better if he was just _gone_ , Molly is there to paw at his side until he wraps his arms around her. 

No way is he ever leaving her behind. Not ever. 

He couldn’t imagine his life without her now.

 

. . .

 

Sam is a bastard. 

He really is. Bucky wants to punch him most days, right in his smug mouth. 

But, when Sam is right, he’s right. 

And Bucky can’t thank him enough for bullying him into getting Molly.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please come chat with me on [tumblr!](https://rux-ian.tumblr.com/) i'd love to hear from you!
> 
> and now that you're here, i'd like to say a few things!
> 
> first, the tappan zee bridge is technically called the 'mario m cuomo bridge' now, but i'm a bitter local and will call it the tappan zee until the day i die. stay mad, andrew.
> 
> second, hoyer's a [real place!](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hoyers-Ice-Cream/132560463457157) 10/10 recommend if you're ever in the area.
> 
> this is obviously a fictional portrayal of how the process of getting a service animal works. in reality it's a long and arduous process, and costs a lot of money. i wanted to breeze through it because Fic and no one wants to read about the boring meetings and paperwork. just remember that this is a work of fiction, okay? okay.
> 
> i'd also like to say that i actually have no problem with muzzle training! it's a great tool for many dogs and their owners, but in bucky's case it would hit a bit too close to home and he wouldn't want to do that to molly with his past experiences (because let's face it that thing he wore in tws was a muzzle). blah blah, do your research on things before you pass judgment, blah blah.
> 
> thanks again for reading! <3


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